Helen wasn't officially invited to Nick's Halloween party, but she came anyway, hoping this would be her chance to fix things with Alex. Alex had shut her out weeks ago, leaving Helen not only socially stranded but financially cut off.
Her boyfriend dumped her soon after, and without Alex's help, her carefully curated lifestyle was quickly slipping out of reach.
She clutched her phone, feeling small and out of place as she watched Alex and Natalie mix drinks by the outdoor bar. Helen typed a message to Natalie, her fingers hesitating before she hit send.
She was sick of begging, but there was no other choice. *Can you get her alone? I need to talk to her.*
The response came almost instantly: *Stop begging already.* Helen's jaw tightened. *What do you expect me to do?* she replied, fingers pressing harder than necessary on each letter. Natalie's reply was just as fast, just as dismissive: *Just do what Alex told you. Don't be such a coward.* Her stomach twisted with resentment.
Helen's gaze drifted across the party, landing on Laura and Tina laughing in the middle of the room. Perfect little *center of attention*, she thought, bitterness flaring.
Tina would be an easy target—she had the kind of naive trust that made her think nothing could ever go wrong.
Another buzz from her phone. *Restroom. Five minutes.* Helen slipped through the crowded house, avoiding eye contact, feeling the weight of every glance as if everyone could sense she didn't belong.
She found Natalie waiting in the restroom, her expression as sharp as it was impatient. Natalie reached into her bag, holding out a delicate silver bracelet that gleamed in the dim bathroom light.
"You know what to do," Natalie said. Helen's stomach clenched as she took the bracelet. "You really think this'll work?" Natalie shrugged, her half-smile saying she didn't care. "I already have her phone, so I'll take care of the rest. Just put the bracelet somewhere Nick can't miss it. Unless, of course, you're planning to keep whining about Alex."
Helen shoved the bracelet into her bag, biting back a retort. Natalie didn't wait for a response—she turned and walked away, leaving Helen feeling hollow.
Upstairs in Nick's room, Helen closed the door softly and glanced around, guilt pressing down on her. This was low, even for her. She carefully tucked the bracelet under some shirts in Nick's drawer, her heart pounding as she thought about how easily this could backfire. *But if I do this right, Alex will forgive me. She'll take me back,* she told herself.
Helen was about to slip out when something caught her eye—a flicker of movement by the bed. She froze, a chill sweeping over her. *Is someone here?* She strained to see through the dim light, holding her breath, her ears straining for any sound—a creak of the floor, the shift of fabric.
But then her phone vibrated sharply, yanking her focus away. The message wasn't from Natalie. It was from her own number.
*Dear diary, it isn't the first time I've done dirty jobs for other people.* Her heart stilled. *What the hell...* Another message followed: *Remember the tests you swiped from the clinic? And the police evidence—such a good friend you are.*
Helen's hands began to shake, but she forced herself to reply, her fingers stiff and clumsy. *Who are you?*
A new message interrupted her response, followed by an attachment—a photo of a drawer, her drawer, with an unmarked envelope just peeking out. The label was faint but unmistakable: "Toxicology report." Her breath caught.
*You kept this, Helen? A little insurance, just in case things turned sour?* Panic spiked, and she struggled to type back,
*What do you want?*
*It's obvious, isn't it? Go to your place. I'll show you why.*
Then another photo: her drawer again, this time empty, but with the envelope lying in an elevator—her building's elevator.
*Better hurry, Helen, or someone else might see it first.* Helen barely registered leaving the party.
She rushed down the street to her building, her chest tight with fear, her heels pounding against the pavement. When she arrived at the lobby, the place was shadowed and quiet, a single emergency light flickering near the entrance.
The envelope lay on the floor of the elevator just as in the photo, and she snatched it up, her fingers trembling.
Before she could exit, the elevator doors closed on their own, the cab jerking upwards, the lights dimming.
Her phone buzzed again: *Some things are better left buried. Just like you, Helen.* Her pulse spiked. She hit the emergency button, but nothing happened. The lights flickered and went out entirely.
Her phone illuminated the tiny space, and she jabbed at the emergency button again, harder this time, her breathing quickening.
Another message appeared, more chilling than the rest: *Enjoy the ride.* The elevator dropped. Sharp and sudden, a stomach-twisting fall before grinding to a jarring halt.
Helen barely had time to catch her breath before it lurched again, dropping in fits and starts, each motion yanking her deeper into the dark.
Her phone buzzed one last time. *Not everyone can be saved, Helen.*
The elevator began to move again—slowly, as if savoring each descent, carrying her further away from everything and everyone, until her screams echoed unheard, swallowed by the dark, metallic silence of the shaft.
